An Artificial Feeling
by ElliotsPants
Summary: Something is bothering Carl, but it's not so much the sick Wilbur Robinson he has to take care of. Even though he can't touch, he wants to feel. A story in first person, something cute and fluffy and a little angsty, for fun and to be posted. Friendshippy


**A r t i f i c i a l: Defination//::**  
**ar - ti - fi - cial** || { ahr - t_uh_ - **fish** - _uh_ l }  
×-adjective

1. made by human skill; produced by humans (opposed to NATURAL): _artificial flowers._

2. imitation; simulated; sham: _artificial__ flavouring._

3. lacking naturalness or spontaneity; forced; contrived; feigned: _an artificial smile._

**× × × × × × × × × × An Artificial Feeling × × × × × × × × × ×**

Once closed eyes fluttered open, the deep doe orbs that had been hidden behind their lids glancing around sleepishly. "Whaimsit?" The nonsense was mummbled below a whisper, but I quickly held up the alarm clock anyway. I always knew the first thing the boy looked for when he woke up- but... he always seemed to forget where the device holding such information is.

"It's around Five o'clock, you could probably use a little more sleep..." My answer was whispered, but the metalic ring with my voice still buzzed in the room. Internally I cringed, almost wanting to draw away from the sound, but I still gave a smile, masking myself easily. Being man-made, and not human at all, it's very easy to accomplish such a thing. Even as one with so many false emotions as himself.

"...Really, you'll be calling in sick, anyway..." Trying to make my voice sound softer, I had set the clock back down and reached across the space between us. My cold fingers were brought together and pressed flatly against the human's forehead, my sensors picking up on the heated temprature. The fever still felt quite high, but it had gone down at least one degree.

I gave a quick diagnosis of him before letting him curl up to the pillows again. When his wonderful chocolate-shaded eyes had closed once more, I let a worried expression slip to my face. The same questions buzzed over and over in my head, and even though it would only take a simple deletion program to remove such 'thoughts' like these: I don't believe I've ever used it. Not a single memory or thought went missing from the memory banks, even when asked on occasion.

I've claimed to have done it, especially if the Science Professor, _Cornelius_-- (I so long to call him _Lewis_ like I used to...) --specifically asked me to. But no matter what, I can't ever just make myself forget something; not after the first time. It was almost terrifying, when Lewis asked me about something, and I had absolutely no idea what the subject in question was.

But right now I'll shake my head, since the past is a place that the Robinson family tries not to worry about. I have to _Keep Moving Forward_, since sometimes, I'm the only person who can keep that inspiration for a fifteen year old boy. Especially since last year, an... unfortunate, yet good in a way, sort of incident had happened concerning a certain younger someone slipping up, and upsetting the past.

_"You're lucky you're alive."_ I had murmured the day after, being the only one allowed contact with the boy. The grounding had dropped from a life-sentence to a mere two months, but normally the part of the grounding that restricted interaction with family members would end in a week or so. Honestly, somedays I find Cornelius to be a real hard-headed guy, not like when he was Lewis--

I'm still not sure, but dominantly I feel that an event that had taken place was an unfortunate event that lead to me finding out the youngest Robinson felt the same way.

"Wilbur?" Asking softly into the now silent room, I hadn't realized I had become lonely feeling. I know that he needs the rest, to get better and feel better and be able to do what humans generally like to do. I never have to feel this way, 'lucky' me. I never have to worry about germs, of feeling ill with a high fever. I never have to bend over the toilet, half-screaming in terror and frustration while wretching out the contents of my stomach.

At this thought, I looked down at where a stomach on a human would be on my own robotic body. _Pfft,_ I had snorted at myself, thinking; _if I ever did throw up, it'd be all cogs and oil, and grease and bolts._ And possibly other countless mechanical parts built inside the sleek, slim frame that holds what is myself altogether. _It'd be quite a mess,_ I had commented quietly, musing over what it would be like to fall ill.

As I wondered, even at such an unpleasent thing, I hadn't taken notice to the young Robinson re-awakening for a second time. I hadn't noticed his hands fumbling around for a glass of water that I had set besides the bed the previous evening, that still sat there. That was, untill, one of those pale hands patted and pulled on my arm, reviving me from the strange stupor. Slightly alarmed, I glanced up to Wilbur's face, his eyes half-lidded, puffy with his tiredness. Cheeks reddened from the fever, and dry lips parted- which is where I picked up on what he wanted.

"Heeyy, Little Buddy, what're you doin' up?" I gave a slight smile, already well-knowing he was thirsty. But you know, even as an artificial being, it's rather nice actually being talked to, and told to do something. However, my playing question had earned a glare from Wilbur; but he, as many teenagers seem to do, rolled his eyes at me, and shook his head. "C'mon, say something..." I pressed on, but his eyes had already spotted the glass containing the fluid he desired.

When he reached for it, I sighed- loud, huffy, drawn-out and dramatic. Trying to even supress a grin shortly afterward from the attention it had gotten me. My buddy held up a long finger, the signal for; 'one moment, please'-- (_well, often I'm adding the "please" myself._) and I waited as he drunk from the cup.

A certain admiration came to the front of my mind, as my own attention had been focused strictly on Wilbur Robinson. I find it fascinating to watch the simpler actions humans make, like drinking, for example-- My 'eyes' followed the way his adams apple bobbed slightly as he gulped down the clear drink, how droplets that missed his mouth, smoothly slid down his chin and neck. Of course, the fact his skin was so smooth and light, helped the effect seem more pleasing to the eye.

Now, I've become fully aware that if I ever told this to someone, other then the toaster-- who can not talk back-- That they would more then less likely accuse of me falling **in** love with Wilbur Robinson. When the fact is very untrue-- I do, however, 'feel' a feeling quite similer to love, **for** Wilbur Robinson. Or perhaps, I do love _watching_ Wilbur Robinson. Being with, near, doing things for, or other various combinations that never result with **in**, at all.

When the dull sound of the glass being set on the wooden table, I perk up slightly, watching as Wilbur turns back to me. I kind of feel like a dog- but in a way, I'm not terribly put back on the idea. I am, indeed, loyal to the human. I always had been, since the day he could talk, even if that did lead to lying. But even so, I've taken a notice to how I've become more Wilbur's then Cornelius' over the years, we're best buddies now, afterall. My first duty lies with Wilbur-- which is why I end up lying to his parents for him, more then admitting the truth like I'm supposed to for them.

_**"I'm awake because... I'm thirsty, but I think you already know that."**_ His voice isn't confident like it usually is, like it's supposed to be- But I'm mostly certain that it's only because of the fever. _When the body is weak, the mind, too, becomes fragile._

"Yeah, I got that..." Smiling weakly, a stood from the chair I had been seated on for the last... eight-ten hours, or so? It's not like it leaves me sore, but it does make me feel an aweful lot like an unused vacuum. Stretching out my limbs, the golden, metalic colour shines, glinting from the moonbeams that stretch across the room from an enormous window. "How d'you feel?" I questioned, spinning around before sitting down on Wilbur's bed, closer to him.

_**"Terrible,"**_ The human whispered, but there's this lop-sided grin existing on his face. The bed dips and shifts when he crawls closer to me, calmly sliding his well constructed arms around my own neck, and leans his weight into my body. _**"unbelievably hot, like I'll burn alive..."**_ He adds in a murmur, and I know why he has become so close-- because I am cold, my temprature much, much colder by many degrees. _**"...Dad should have made a cure for this kind of thing already..."**_

The slight bitterness in his tone makes me laugh somewhat, and I slide my own, arm-like appendage around his torso. The action has him only press closer, and it makes me 'feel' strangely content with how he depends on me, how he needs me to soothe his discomfort. And in that, it's truly comforting to _myself_, knowing this. I've always been needed in some way or other- making dinner, doing some errands, putting out fires, tightening bolts. But with Wilbur, it seems like I really have a purpose. Instead of being a helping-hand, I'm something else, something bigger and more important.

_**"You know... I never let you know how much I appreciate you being here, Carl..."**_ His voice his bored-sounding, but I don't mind. It doesn't make what he said mean any less then the vast amount that it does. _**"...Even though you bug me about some things-- and I know it's because you don't want me getting in trouble-- you're always there for me..."**_ Wilbur only says these things when he's ill, when he's at his weakest. As if he would die tomorrow and I would ever know them-- that he really cares if I know or not.

Humans can be very strange, but it only makes them more fascinating, more amazing.

The sensors, like nerves, exist all over my body- so I can tell when he leans his cheek against my broad shoulder plate. When he sighs, his muscles relax. I take it as as a que, and I let my arm extend, sliding it up under the loose shirt Wilbur is wearing. My 'fingers' gracefully dance and circle around each bone connected to the spinal cord, the metal of my arm lining up along it as my hand advances upward.

The shivers that I earn shake the frame of my own construction slightly, and a soft moan of gratification enters the room. With my palm flat, and fingers outstretched, I lay my hand between his shoulder blades, and the shivering continues for a good while. When he finally stills, his arms fall limp, barely hanging from my sleek design. "Are you sleeping?" I said softly, my voice echoing in the silent room. I already know, I can hear the faltered heartbeat against my metal chest.

_It's almost like it's inside me._ I thought wishfully, and glance towards the big window. A slight pink and orange glow is starting to blanket the sky, deafening the deep, royal blue that's littered with the thousands of thousands of millions of stars there are- and will again, appear tomorrow night. Wilbur will probably try sleeping all day again, untill I start pestering him with eating lunch or dinner.

When the Robinson begins to slip away, I lie him down on his bed, pulling a comforter on top, but letting it rest at his waist. Even though during a fever, it's best to stay covered up; But I know he's warm, so I'll let him cool off for an hour or two, or three. I stand, and briefly leave the room to retrieve another glass of water, my eyes following the clear, swirling fluid as it fills the glass.

I returned to find him on his side, one leg sticking out awkwardly over the blanket, and one of the pillows crushed to his chest. An enlightened laugh escapes my 'mouth', and I stride over to where the boy sleeps, discreetly placing the glass back on the bedside table. Stepping back a little, I gaze over the form- admiring the way muscles were smoothed over with Wilbur's skin, how his body could bend, arch and dip so elegantly.

Leaning over, I let my face come very close to Wilbur's, and I murmur a soft; _"I love you,"_ to the sleeping body. I can feel it, that I am very connected to him, like he's a circuit embeded deep inside my build. It's just this sheer, undeniably _feeling_ that I can no longer object to having. He is mine to take care of, my friend, and my own care-taker, who kindly, _sometimes_, polishes me, and makes sure I don't get rusted.

"Get better soon, okay, Little Buddy?"

Taking my seat again beside the bed, I decided it'll be best if I'm here- I always decide that, for Wilbur Robinson. I'll watch him as he sleeps, in case he wakes up and is in need of medicine of any sort, any water, a new change of pajamas. Anything, and I'll be here, if he needs it.

The barely audible sound of a click, then the door opening, is what has filled the room. And the light footsteps that belong to no other then Franny Robinson, Wilbur's mother, are crossing the room. When she is beside me, she places one of her delicatly, well-formed hands on my shoulder plate. Asking about how her son is doing; I'll answer truthfully, turning my head to give her a smile.

"He's doing perfectly fine, you shouldn't be too worried. He'll back up on his feet, and making trouble, in no time." To this she gives a smile in return, nodding her head before leaving the room as quietly as she had come. If any of the Robinson's need me, they know where I am, and Franny can normally handle the mornings well on her own, even after Cornelius leaves for work. We have some cooking droids, and fancy toasters- (_that __**can't**__ talk_) and ovens and little helping hands. Where I can be here, where I am needed, wanted.

I may be an artifical being, with artificial intelligence, completely artificial and unhuman. But if I have all this, I'm certain, that I have artificial feelings. No matter how real they seem.

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**Hallo thar, all!  
It's Elliett again, **_**An Artificial Feeling**** was an idea that had been bouncing around in my head for a long time before I buckled down and got to it.**_

This is a story to my very good friend and favourite roleplay, Teya, and I hoped she liked it as much as she did when I wrote than she does now. We're both Meet the Robinsons fans, and probably always will be.

The story is written in a First Person sense, since it A) wouldn't leave me alone for this fanfiction. And B) I have never really written anything in First Person, so hopefully it would go interestingly well enough.

And it did- I'm extremely happy with the outcome of the story.

The story, a _fanfiction_, is set to Disney's movie, _Meet the Robinsons_. The time is roughly a year after the movie actually takes place. The main characters in it are _Wilbur Robinson_ and _Carl_, who if you're familier, is the family robot. And a slight splash of _Franny Robinson_ who isn't really important and is yet, quite important for the fanfiction to be held together.

It's written from Carl's point of veiw, since the idea of a robotic man suddenly stuck in my head, and wouldn't leave me alone. _An Artificial Feeling_ will hopefully, chuck full of fandom, take a slightly deeper look into his personality. He does act rather human in the movie, doesn't he?

So, really, anything else that you want to know about the story will be in it.

I wanted to post something, even if I've written it a long, long while ago, since I haven't updated my other fanfiction. So, here you go!

Toodles!


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